


I'm Where You Are

by captnalbatr0ss



Series: The Captain and his Quartermaster [19]
Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 11:33:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7506664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captnalbatr0ss/pseuds/captnalbatr0ss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sam had been trying for months to get Rafe to open up to him more, especially about his dreams. Sam would gently encourage Rafe to talk to him each time he woke next to Sam in a cold sweat.<br/>Rafe was slow to let Sam in, but Sam had made more progress than anyone before him. And now, finally, Rafe had begun to seek Sam out on nights like these. And Sam was always there, always ready to listen."</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Where You Are

**Author's Note:**

> I reference Rafe's recurring nightmare in this piece. This should read fine without it, but if you’re interested, check out 'Prepare A Table Before Me' in my works.

* * *

Sam opened one eye to a persistent buzzing sound coming from his nightstand.

He groaned, rubbing his eyes as he reached, groped until he found his phone, blinked as he noted the time. And the caller.

3:17 am. Rafe Adler.

Sam frowned. Rafe didn’t make a habit of calling in the middle of the night.

Rafe was out of town on business, he’d gone for a face-to-face with the CEO of a struggling company that he intended to buy out, absorb. It was straightforward enough, Rafe had said, mostly schmoozing, reassuring, and legalities. Lawyers. Paperwork.

None of it sounded straightforward to Sam.

“—ello?” Sam cleared his throat, sitting up in bed.

“Sam.” A pause. “Shit, I woke you.”

“—s’okay. What’s, ah…” He paused to yawn, rubbing his face. “What’s going on? You okay?”

“I didn’t realize the time.” 

Rafe was stalling. His voice was rough, his tempo was timid.  

“Don’t worry about it. I’m here. Talk to me.” Sam turned on the small lamp by his bed.

Silence.

“Hey. Rafe, you there?” 

Sam had been trying for months to get Rafe to open up to him more, especially about his dreams. Sam would gently encourage Rafe to talk to him each time he woke next to Sam in a cold sweat. Rafe was slow to let Sam in, but Sam had made more progress than anyone before him. And now, finally, Rafe had begun to seek Sam out on nights like these. And Sam was always there, always ready to listen.

They were always strange, his dreams, from what little Rafe would reluctantly share. But there was one,  _the_   _one_ , Rafe’s recurring nightmare, and Sam didn’t know what it was, he just knew that it cut Rafe down to his knees every time.

Sam had a bad feeling that tonight was about the big one. The bad one.

He waited a beat, then— “Did it happen again?”

Sam heard a small sigh, and Rafe’s voice.

“Yes.”

“Bad?”

“Yes. I…I woke up on the floor, in the bathroom. I don’t remember—” Another pause. “The bath was running. I don’t remember turning it on.”

Sam heard a soft sound, not quite a whimper but it was close—it made Sam’s heart ache. And then Rafe’s voice again.

“Sam?” It wasn’t really a question, Rafe was trying to ground himself on something, on anything. On— “Sam.”

Sam stood, paced the floor. “Where are you now?”

“In the tub.” A strained laugh.

“Rafe—”

“I think I’ve been in here awhile.”

Sam’s stomach turned. The change in Rafe’s voice, almost imperceptible, except that Sam paid such close attention to it, it was one of the ways he knew to anticipate Rafe’s temperament. This one was the rarest, he’d heard it only a couple of times before. Something about it, it was off, it was a little too dark. It wasn’t really Rafe, not Sam’s Rafe.

“Rafe—”

“Water is…so strange, Sam. It sustains, it chokes. It freezes, it boils, and sometimes it’s just…lukewarm. I feel like that sometimes. But right now—”

“Baby, I want you to get out of the tub.”

“—I don’t feel hot, I don’t feel cold. I don’t feel…” He paused, Sam could practically see the way his brows would furrow as he picked his words. “I…don’t feel. I don’t feel anything.”

Sam was out of bed, tugging on jeans, grabbing a shirt. He hated when Rafe got this way, when he risked a dance with his dark thoughts.  “Rafe, you listen to me. I need you to do something for me, can you do something for me?”

“Yes.”

“I need you to get out of the tub. I want you to get back in bed. You should make yourself some tea or something, ok?”

Sam was putting on shoes, grabbing his keys. He leaned over his desk, opened his laptop. He quickly pulled up the address of Rafe’s hotel, emailed it to himself. He glanced at the clock again, closing his eyes, realizing Rafe hadn’t answered him yet.

“Rafe.”

Nothing.

“Hey. Rafe. Rafe?”

_Shit._  Sam grabbed his wallet, his keys.

Finally—

“I don’t understand why the table keeps changing.”

“What?”

“It always starts with food, but then—” Rafe’s voice cracked. “It’s just the glasses. Just the knives.”

“Rafe, you stay on the phone with me. Don’t you hang up.” 

Sam was out the door, trotting to his car.

“It hurts, Sam. It shouldn’t hurt, not after I wake up.”

“Babe.” Sam wasn’t sure how to help. He knew Rafe must be talking about the bad dream, the one Sam had never heard before. “You’re okay. Stay with me. Hey, what about that tea, huh? You like earl gray. Or what about chamomile, I know that helps you sleep, right baby?”

He wanted Rafe to open up to him about this one, he wanted to be able to help. But he didn’t like the idea of Rafe wading in those waters when Sam was miles away. When Rafe was alone.

“The wine’s not wine, the knife isn’t the knife.” He sounded so tired, confused.

Sam struggled to pull Rafe’s focus back to him. He was throwing the car in gear, hitting the gas.

“Come on, baby. Come back. Where are you now?”

“The table.”

Sam hit the highway, already speeding. “No. No, you’re with me. A’right? You’re here, now you stay with me, sweetheart. Stay.”

“Sam.” Rafe’s voice was heavy. The darkness had left it, now Rafe sounded broken. “I’m sorry I woke you. I shouldn’t have—” 

“Rafe, don’t you dare hang up on me.” Sam glanced down at his speedometer, pressed harder on the pedal.

“I can fix this. I can.”

“Goddamnit Rafe, don’t— I swear to god, if you hang up that phone—”

Silence.

“Rafe.  _Rafe?_ ” Sam glanced at his phone.

Rafe was gone.

“God fucking damnit.”

He tried to call Rafe back, but got no answer. He kept trying the whole way there, and Sam swore it was the longest drive of his life.

By the time he pulled into the hotel, the sun was rising. Sam was keyed up, jittery. He tapped his fingers impatiently at the front desk.

“Good morning, sir, can—”

“Rafe Adler. A, d, l, e, r. What room?”

The concierge looked a bit surprised, but glanced down at her computer, typing quickly.

“Ah, he’s in the penthouse. Top floor, sir.”

“I need a key.”

“Sir, I’m afraid—”

“A KEY.” Sam raised his voice, he didn’t mean to, and he quickly lowered it again. “ _Please_ , I—Please.”

The concierge regarded him for a moment, and Sam saw her eyes soften. Her fingers were moving again, pulling up something else on her screen. She grabbed a blank keycard, programmed it for the penthouse, and wordlessly slid it to Sam.

Sam grabbed it, clutched it tight. “Thank you.”

His heart rate rose with the elevator, and he fumbled with the keycard once he reached the penthouse level.

He was calling out for Rafe as soon as he pushed through the door.

“Rafe? Baby?”

He passed the bathroom, the door was open. His chest tightened. The tub was still full.

He spotted Rafe sprawled in bed, face down.

“Shit. Shit shit,  _Rafe_?”

He crossed the room, at Rafe’s side in a heartbeat. He reached out, rolling Rafe over. Rafe was limp in Sam’s arms, and Sam was in a panic. He shook Rafe gently, not noticing the tears in his own eyes.

“Hey.  _Hey_. Rafe. Sweetheart. Wake up.”

He glanced around the room. Saw the mug of tea, half empty. So Rafe had heard him, had taken his suggestion. Then he saw the bottle of sleeping pills, still open.

“Jesus Christ, no, Rafe, if you—“ Sam couldn’t bring himself to say it, he felt sick. “Don’t. You can’t.”

Rafe began to stir, and Sam choked out a sob.

Rafe’s eyes opened slowly, found Sam.

“Sam?” Confusion.

“Rafe, how many did you take?” His voice was high, frantic.

Rafe grimaced, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Goddamnit Rafe.” He grabbed the bottle, thrust it in Rafe’s face. “How. Many. Did you. Take.”

Rafe sat up, looking at Sam like he was crazy.  “I took two, like the fucking bottle says to. Sam. What the fuck are you doing here?”

Sam practically dropped Rafe, taking a step back, running shaky hands through his hair. He turned away, pressing his hand over his mouth, trying to calm his racing heart.

“What am I doing here? Christ, Rafe, you scared the fucking shit out of me.”

Rafe was sitting up, sheets pooling around his waist. “What are you talking about?”

Sam spun to face Rafe. “You called me. Last night. This morning. Fuck, a few hours ago. You weren’t making any sense.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed, he frowned deeply. “Oh.” His shoulders slumped. “Shit. Sam, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“Yes. You should have. You should  _always_  call me when you’re fucked up like that. But you shouldn’t fucking hang up on me. I didn’t know what to think, I…” Sam’s anger ran out, he was suddenly just exhausted. His eyes closed, he wiped absently at the tears on his face with the heel of his hand. “I didn’t know what to do.” He shrugged, arms dropping helplessly to his sides.

“Well. I’m sorry I hung up on you. I don’t remember doing that.”

“Yeah and you prob’ly don’t remember sitting in the bathtub for god knows how long, either.”

“Oh.”

Sam’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and he shoved them in his pockets to still them.

“Listen, Sam. I’m sorry. But you didn’t have to come all the way out here, I’m fine.”

“You aren’t fine,” Sam scoffed.

“Jesus Sam, look, you can’t just show up here and—”

“Like hell I can’t.” Sam’s voice was firm. He moved to stand by the bed again, by the side Rafe was on. “You can’t expect me to just sit back and watch you shoulder all this shit by yourself. When you call me in the middle of the night, talking about whatever, about—about food, and a table, and fuckin’ knives—

The look on Rafe’s face changed, his eyes darted around the room. He hadn’t realized, didn’t remember saying those things to Sam. He barely remembered making the call.

“You can’t say that stuff to me, hang up on me, and expect me to believe that you’re okay. And when you’re not okay, I’m gonna fucking  _be_  there, because I love you, god damn it!”

Rafe’s eyes shot to Sam’s face, his expression soft, surprised. “What?”

Sam was still worked up, his voice raised. “I said I’m not just gonna let you self destruct, that—”

“No.” Rafe’s voice was quieter. “Before that.”

“I said I lo— Sam stuttered, he blinked. His cheeks flushed, his limbs felt numb. 

_Shit._

“I…I said I love you.” He dropped his gaze to the floor, his heart racing. “God… _damn_  it.”

Rafe opened his mouth to say something, but he had no words. He struggled, searched, he had nothing. He tried to recall his reaction the last time someone had told him that, realized he couldn’t. Rafe didn’t know, couldn’t remember the last time someone had loved him.

“Goddamnit.” Sam turned, his chest felt tight, his hands tingled. He was warm—no, he was hot. Embarrassed. Fucking humiliated.

He headed straight for the balcony, rushed there, slammed the sliding glass door behind him.

Out of habit, he went for a cigarette. He ducked his head down, brought his lighter up. But his fingers shook, trembled. He couldn’t get the damn thing to spark. He slammed his lighter down on the table, braced his hands against its’ surface, head bowed. His shoulders shook, he realized he was crying.

_Shit.  
_

Behind him, the door slid slowly open.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut as Rafe moved to stand beside him. He felt Rafe’s hand on his shoulder, it broke the last of his resolve.

“Sam.”

Sam shook his head, refusing to look up.

“Sam…”

“No. No, Rafe. No. Because every time I try—every time I want to take us there, I…I look at you, and I think, what if I say it, and what if it fucks everything up, what if it pushes you away. And so I don’t. I want to, and I don’t.  And if I look at you right now, I’m gonna know I fucked up, and I’m gonna say I—I didn’t really mean it, that I was just scared. But goddamnit, I do mean it. I couldn’t fucking mean it more, and I—” He took a shaky breath, he hated how weak his voice sounded, how unsteady. “I can’t. I love you, Rafe. So. There. Shit.” 

He straightened, still refusing to meet Rafe’s eyes, wiping his own with the sleeve of his jacket. “If you want me to go, I’ll go. If you want me to stay away, I guess I’ll do that, too. But if you want me to act like—like I’m not just…just  _stupid_  in love with you, that’s something I won’t do.”

Rafe moved to stand in front of Sam, took Sam’s trembling hands in his own, stepped closer.

“I don’t want you to go.” Rafe was looking up at Sam with those blue and brown eyes, the ones Sam always got lost in. “Come here.”

For once, it was Sam who felt small as Rafe reached up, wrapped his arms around Sam’s shoulders, pulling him down. Sam, who’s legs shook until he finally let them cave, dropping to his knees and pressing his face to Rafe’s stomach, clutching Rafe like his life depended on it.

Maybe it did.

Rafe’s fingers were in his hair, on the back of his head. He placed one hand on Sam’s, taking a few steps back, tugging on Sam’s hand. Sam shuffled, still on his knees, as Rafe sat down, leaning into the corner of the balcony. He pulled Sam to him, and Sam’s head was in his lap, and Rafe’s fingers resumed gently combing through his hair.

“Thank you.” Sam’s voice was barely a whisper.

“For what?”

“Letting me in.” Sam closed his eyes, his arms wrapped around Rafe’s waist.

Rafe watched Sam’s face, felt a tug, a slow build of warmth in his chest. He wondered if it was love, if that’s what love felt like. If it was, he thought, then at what level did Sam feel it? Was it warm for him, too? Did it hurt? Was Sam as scared of it was Rafe was?

Rafe swallowed hard.

“Don’t give up on me,” he breathed. “I need you, Sam.”

Sam curled against Rafe, pressing his face tight to Rafe’s hip. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m wherever you are, sweetheart.”

Rafe closed his eyes, pushed all else from his mind except Sam. Sam’s eyes, his smile, the way he would slip up behind Rafe, arms wrapping him up in a hug so tight that Rafe couldn’t breathe. He thought of Sam’s voice, his laugh, his dumb jokes. He thought of Sam’s lips, his taste, the delicious things he whispered in Rafe’s ear while they fucked. 

The warmth in his chest multiplied, it was a totally new sensation for Rafe. It was strange. It was pleasant.

He felt Sam’s breathing slow, steady as he fell asleep.

Rafe submerged himself in this new feeling—

_Love?_

—let it pull him under.

Leaning against the wall, Sam pressed against him, the sun rising. Rafe had never slept better.

 


End file.
